I retreat into the tent and unfold the little paper swan that carries my Big Five on its body. I rummage around in the bag River bought for my things and pull out the pencil.
Without thinking, I cross out number three, Hug someone, and instead write next to it in pretty letters,
Kiss a boy in the moonlight.
I carefully trace the fold lines of the paper, which appear like veins, like the blood of my dreams. The thought makes me smile. I think of River and fold the paper back into a swan.
I hear noises outside; River is humming a tune to himself.
Because I can’t sleep, I play music at night.
Several days pass. River and I slackline, moving from one place to another like vagabonds. “Moon-and-star vagabonds,” River says once, and I mentally add it to my list of nice words.
Sometimes, we sit together at night and write on the notepad instead of talking.
I tell him about James and Arizona and the relationship we used to have—that the three of us pricked each other’s fingers and swore a blood oath that we would never let each other down. How Arizona and I would sit for hours on Dad’s gigantic old poncho like conjoined twins, stargazing in the yard. River neverasks why it’s no longer like that, so I tell him a little more every day. I also mention Mr. Spock, my only friend, but I leave out Kensington.
Strangely enough, our conversations on paper never feel strange, just natural. But what strikes me is how little he reveals about himself. He reveals what music he likes to listen to—Good Charlotte and Blink-182—what series he likes to watch—Money HeistandRiverdale—and that he lived in New Orleans for a long time and still has friends there. He also wants to go to the Craters of the Moon in Idaho again. For some reason, this is important to him.
I also notice how little he sleeps. Sometimes, I get the impression he doesn’t sleep at all, but that’s impossible. Sometimes, he eats a lot and then just skips meals. Sometimes, there are hours when he’s completely lost, but that’s okay because I feel the same way.
During this time, I am learning how to stand up on a slackline and turn around on the band without help—all things you need to master before venturing onto a highline. What remains unsaid is why I absolutely have to make it onto a highline. What remains unsaid is why he sounded so desperate when he spoke on the phone the other day.
I also didn’t mention the high-speed chase and the near-crash because there haven’t been any other incidents since that day. Still, the questions never stop.
It’s difficult when you can only think about things because thoughts are more disorderly than the spoken word. Thoughts are more like dreams—not yet real. They hang somewhere between the inside world and the outside world, and that’s why my life passes me by. It’s a series of unsorted images, but for now, the dream state is too good to leave.
Once, there was a blue sky and sunshine, and River bought two umbrellas. We walked with them open through a small townon the side of the highway. It’s crazy how people stared at us, but with River, I don’t mind. I can stand the staring without tensing up.
I ignore my phone most of the time, but I can’t avoid texting Dad. And, of course, Mr. Spock.
He keeps asking about what happened to me at school, and I’m close to telling him everything simply because I’m so far away now. He’s merely a virtual person—maybe the only one I could tell.
Dad was all upset after the photo I sent him. “Are you kidding me, Kansas? You should send a picture of yourself and not some girl with her boyfriend. Come to your senses! The whole hospital staff is talking about you. How can you be so naive and get involved with these guys? Apart from that, you’re missing all of your classes. If you don’t come home soon, I’ll report you missing to the police.”
I answered:The girl is me. Nothing more, nothing less, and I’m fine. I can breathe again. Please don’t call the police and let me get my life in order.
“You consider getting involved with these boys as getting your life in order?”
I’m only with one guy if you want to know exactly.
“Chester says otherwise. Everyone says something different. For heaven’s sake, Kansas!”
Maybe I’ll find Mom and move in with her.
Then he exploded, and I could no longer understand his words. A day later: “Just come home, Kans. Chester keeps asking me if I know where you are. He’s afraid for you. Let’s talk!”
Yeah, sure, talk. And now I know for sure that the Porsche doesn’t have a tracking device because if Chester knew where I was, he would already be here.
Since his last message, I only send a message every other day with the same text:I’m fine.I only listen to his voicemails tofind out if he mentions the police again, which he hasn’t done so far. Of course not. Otherwise, more people would find out what a “bitch” I am.
I hint to Mr. Spock that I’m on the road with a guy, but I don’t say anything more.
He texts back.You ran away? Shit! Today, Mr. X took all my money. I wanted to use it to buy Mom the latest Celeste Lynn Miller romance novel. She loves that trash. Now I don’t have anything to bring her in the hospital. This all pisses me off so much. God, I would love to come with you. Are you alone with this guy? Who is he anyway? Where are you?
Of course, I won’t tell him.
Except for these messages, I now leave my cell phone off or in airplane mode because I’m too afraid that they’ll use it to locate me. River shows me where I can turn off the GPS, but tracking also works with cell towers.
